


Tea Time

by Luv15



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luv15/pseuds/Luv15
Summary: Han Solo was a barista in another life. No plot. No purpose. No description of an implied action scene. Wedge and fluff rule.





	Tea Time

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration came when I stumbled across a battered paperback titled, "Coffee, Tea or Me?" in a bin at a book fair. That book is a "Mad Men-era" look at the lives of '60s airline "stewardesses." Very of that time, non-feminist tome, but thought it would be fun to turn the title upside down and provide my beloved Rogues with a little snark/gambling action and L/H a reason to banter. This could take place anytime between late ANH or pre-L/H argument in the Hoth hallway. If those two hadn't been together on some level, why the fight? Nothing to do with this bit of fluff, but: TFA NEVER HAPPENED in my mind.

Han Solo sauntered through the Mess Hall like he owned the place, a steaming beverage cup in each hand. His hazel eyes scanned the room for his intended mark. Once targeted, he made a beeline to the dining table Leia Organa was sharing with a handful of Rogue Squadron pilots.

“Here we go, again,” Hobbie nudged Wedge Antilles’ elbow. “Every morning, the same old, same old,” he whispered, not wanting to draw the attention of their royal breakfast guest.

“’Mornin’, your Most Tightly Braidedness,” Solo greeted her. “Would ya like kaffe?” he raised one cup. “Tea?” an identifying shake to the other, “or,” he drawled in a low rumble, “me?” The last word punctuated by widespread arms and a suggestive wink. 

Leia’s narrowed eyes shot daggers at him as she haughtily replied, “Thank you, Captain, but there is nothing you have to offer that I could possibly want.” 

Han snorted. With an overly solicitous bow, he set her favorite flavored tea down in front of her and, whistling a carefree tune, strolled off leaving a blushing Leia in his wake.

Twenty-four hours later, the Rogues again gathered for their morning meal. Wes Janson was the first to notice the imposing presence of Alliance leader Mon Mothma in their midst. Mon was finishing her first cup of kaffe while Leia sat with her, data pad in hand, at a quiet corner table.

“Ten credits says Solo won’t pull his usual “kaffe, tea or me” show with Mon in the room,” Wes called to his fellow pilots. 

“I’ll take that bet and double it,” Wedge chimed up. “My money’s on Han pulling out the stops _because_ Mon’s here.” The nation-proud pilot liked to place his hard-earned credits on the side of a fellow Corellian. 

“I owe you both too much already to chance anything,” Hobbie whined, stirring his oatmeal. “But, if I did, I’d go with Wes. Even Solo doesn’t have the balls to screw around in front of Mon.”

The three toyed with the food on their trays while waiting for the Millennium Falcon’s captain to show. When he did, they watched Han’s eyes zone in on Leia’s location, saw him hesitate a moment as he realized the identity of her table companion, then amble away from the self-serve beverage station. 

“See,” Wes crowed pointedly to Wedge, “Not gonna’ happen.” 

Wedge craned his neck to catch Solo grab a full pot of kaffe from a serving droid. “Oh, yeah? Watch a master at work.”

Leia visibly stiffened as she saw Solo approach. He wouldn’t dare continue his stupid behavior in Mon’s presence, would he? Leia groaned as Han held the steaming vessel of kaffe before them.

“Looks like you could you use somethin’ to warm you up, Mon.” Han tilted the carafe, turning his statement into a question for the commanding woman. 

Never much of a fan of the smuggler-turned-Alliance ally, Mon responded with a surprised, “Why, thank you, Captain Solo,” raising her cup toward the carafe. “That is quite thoughtful of you.” 

“How ‘bout it, Princess?” he asked, a gleeful glisten in his eyes. 

“I don’t drink kaffe,” she muttered back, not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him. 

“Strong and hot, Your Worship. Don’t know what you’re missin’. Does she Mon?”

Leia’s eyes widened. He did not just say that to her boss, did he? Oh, gods!

“I do enjoy starting the day with it,” the leader nodded, oblivious to the innuendo in Solo’s remarks or that her innocent response played right into his double entendre joke. Han tightened his lips to keep from barking out a laugh.

“Go away, Han,” Leia’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Some of us have important work to do.” 

Ignoring her “I don’t drink kaffe” statement, he dropped a cup next to the Princess’ data pad, and, with a flourish, filled it with the richly dark liquid. 

“This’ll help you get through all that important work you got goin’ on. Maybe I’ll check in your office later, you take a break and let me…” his voice lowered suggestively, “top you off.” 

Leia pushed herself up from the table. “Excuse me, Mon. I just remembered I have a report that needs to be filed.” She scrambled out of the Mess, tugging Solo along by his shirt sleeve.

The Rogues managed to catch a bit of Leia’s ire as she pulled a smirking Solo out into the hallway.

“If you ever embarrass me like that again in front of anyone I will pour scalding hot kaffe on your body in places where you most certainly do not want to have third degree burns,” she growled at him.

“Am I wearin’ clothes when you do this or are you plannin’ on gettin’ me naked first?” he asked, his face all faux innocence.

“You are a horrible man.” She stormed off, his soft laugh accompanying the beat of small, determined feet along the corridor. 

Back at the Rogues’ table, Wedge dramatically cleared his throat and held his hand out for payment from Wes. “Never underestimate Corellian balls, boys.” 

Bright and early the next day, the Mess was abuzz with Alliance staff gathering at the end of their nightshift or the beginning of their day. The crowd of uniformed personnel included General Carlist Rieekan. The composed and dignified member of the High Command was strategizing with Leia and an aide about personnel deployment. The Princess was intently focused on her data pad, so Rieekan was the first to notice the lanky freighter pilot approaching, drinks in hand. 

“Solo!” The general greeted Han warmly. “Good to see you. Heard you had a run to Withsmir 5 last week. That place is a humid hell hole.” 

“That’s a generous description, sir,” Han smiled politely in response to the older man’s comment. His attention turning to a stone-faced Leia. 

“Speaking of hot and steamy, Princess….” and he went through his usual “kaffe, tea, me” song and dance. Carlist lightly chuckled at the younger man’s bold flirtation. 

Leia delivered a somewhat disapproving glare to the General before turning her wrath onto Han. “The only thing hot about you, Captain Solo, is the air coming out of your big mouth.” 

Han lazily smiled at Leia, then leaned in from behind to blow warm, kaffe-scented breath onto the pale patch of exposed neck just below her ear.

Leia visibly shuddered, swatting him away. 

“So, you were wrong,” he said with authority. 

“Wrong? About what?” she snapped.

“Hot air. You’ve got goosebumps.” He ran a long finger below her ear. 

“You are impossible,” she swatted him away again. 

With that, a laughing Solo deposited a cup of tea before her, offered a sloppy salute to Rieekan, nodded at the aide, and strutted out the door. While there were no nosy pilots to watch this morning’s interaction, Leia had to endure Rieekan’s mirthful laugh as he waved farewell to Han. 

A new day dawned on the Rebel base and on this bright morning Leia was sharing toast and the rare treat of freshly made jam with Luke Skywalker. 

“Hey, here comes, Han!” Luke happily chirped.

“Oh, great,” Leia mumbled under her breath. Of course, she knew what was coming. There was nothing fresh about Han’s breakfast routine. 

Hands occupied with steaming drinks, Solo was carefully threading his way through a crowd of exiting Green Squadron pilots. 

“Heads up, Greens!” the always helpful Luke called out. “Hot stuff comin’ through.”

“That’s what I keep tellin’ her, kid.” Han winked at Skywalker before turning his full attention to the lone female at the table. 

Luke shook his head, his voice not unkind, “How long are you gonna keep this up, Han?”

“Until it’s not fun anymore,” he matter-of-factly answered. “Or ‘til she finally makes the right choice.” He playfully nudged Leia’s shoulder with his hip.

Leia rolled her eyes and sighed.

“You know the drill, Sweetheart. New day, same menu. Ya oughtta’ give Option 3 a whirl,” Solo told her with serious nod before breaking into a wide grin. 

Knowing her preference, Han placed a freshly brewed tea in front of her, slowly running a fingertip along the rim of the cup. 

She looked down through thick lashes at his finger moving atop the paper container and, with a condescending glare, spat out, “I prefer my tea to not be flavored with engine oil from your filthy ship.” 

The smile disappeared from Han’s face. She could say what she wanted about him, but not his beloved Falcon.

“My hands might be dirty, sister, but my ship is pristine,” he snapped.

Luke sadly shook his head and let out a deep sigh.

Han stared down at her, studying her a bit as he sipped his kaffe, then nodded his head knowingly. “Yeah, you could use a little engine oil. Little engine oil might loosen you up, Your Most Tight-assed-ness.” He roughly grabbed the tea container and made a show of dropping it in a nearby trash can as he departed. 

Luke spoke softly. “You probably shouldn’t have said anything bad about the Falcon.”

“He is so infuriating. Every. Single. Morning. The same nonsense. You wouldn’t believe what he said in front of Mon!”

“I think you kind of like it,” Luke replied softly with a blue-eyed blink. Leia huffed at that. 

“Really, Leia, you gotta admit, it is pretty funny. He’ll do anything to get your attention. He’s only trying to make you laugh.”

To Luke’s surprise, she sheepishly nodded. “But, he needs to stop. It’s embarrassing and just so….so….” her eyes closed as she searched for the word.

“So Han?” Luke teasingly filled in the blank.

“Yes! So…Han! Childish. Silly. Annoying.” But her gentle smile and soft eyes didn’t match the uncomplimentary words. 

Luke nodded back at her knowingly. Why can’t his two best friends stop the petty taunts and teases and just admit they care for each other? 

“Well, you won’t have to put up with it for a whole week. He and Chewie’ll be flying out this afternoon. The Falcon’s collecting a stockpile of arms from a contact in the Outer Rim.”

Leia blinked. She hadn’t heard about that mission. The Rim was extremely unstable at the moment with both pirate and Empire activities raging. One of their suppliers had recently been boarded by space thieves, lost the shipment and had taken a considerable beating to boot. An uneasy tingle crept up her back. She shook herself, feeling bad that her last interaction with Han had been so mean spirited. 

Later that day, the ramp of the Falcon was starting to rise when Han heard a distressed voice cry out, "Wait, wait, Captain Solo!" Great, he thought, Threepio. It took everything in him to tolerate the droid. 

"What?" he barked.

"Princess Leia wanted me to give you this before your departure." He handed Solo a can of motor oil and a note in Leia's perfect script: In case you run out. I didn't mean it. Clear skies. 

His face broke into a grin as the droid asked, "Is there a return message, Captain?"

"No. No message. But, I do need your help." 

The very next day, the Princess was deep in thought at her desk, typing away on a data pad when two droids motored into her office. 

C-3PO’s distinct enunciations broke the silence. “Princess Leia, Captain Solo requested that we deliver a morning beverage to you each day he is away on his mission.” 

As the droid handed her a frothy cup of tea, R2 beeped and, with a mechanized whir, presented a flimsy. A surprised Leia snatched the message and read, “Didn’t want you to miss the hot stuff while I’m gone…,” R2 whistled, his other motorized claw held out another note with a small packet of sweetener attached, “Sugar.” She couldn’t help but laugh. Even parsecs away, Han managed to keep the game going. 

Leia found herself looking forward to the droids’ morning drink delivery service, especially the notes that accompanied it. 

A sweetly tart fruit juice came with the instruction: “Pucker up, Princess.” 

Some were in two parts: “Enjoy the tea”…then, with a whir, “Honey,” a tube of the sticky condiment delivered with an R2 beep. 

The flimsy presented with a very floral tea simply read: In lieu of flowers. H.

One chilly morning, hot cocoa was served, and the message felt much more personal. “Not as deep a chocolate as your eyes, but it’s the best I could do. Stay warm, Sweetheart.” Leia hadn’t taken a sip of the creamy liquid, yet she felt a flush of heat course through her veins. Oh, gods.

Seven days had passed and she felt a wave of disappointment when she realized that a morning drink with a whimsical side note hadn’t arrived. She let it go and focused on her work. It was on the ninth day that she sought out Threepio to inquire as to why the ritual had ended.

“Captain Solo programmed us only for the scheduled seven days of his mission,” the golden droid explained. “He said he’d be back to personally serve you after that time. We have no further instructions, Mistress Leia. I would be most happy to bring you a warm beverage at any time.”

“No, no worries, Threepio. Thank you,” Leia distractedly replied. Two days late. Something didn’t seem right. She made her way to the command center to check if there were any reports from the Falcon as to what had caused their delay.

Leia approached the scheduling officer on duty and asked, “Weren’t we supposed to be receiving an arms shipment this week?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the woman responded as she scanned a data file. “Going to be a bit late. The contractor ran into a problem and had to find a port for repairs.” 

Of course, Leia mused. The damned Falcon couldn’t hold together for a simple job. Probably just an excuse for Solo to meet up with some old smuggling pals in an off-the-radar cantina. 

“Hmmmm,” she muttered, the officer taking that as encouragement to continue the conversation. 

“Seems they ran into some pirates and the ship took some minor damage. Managed to save the freight shipment, though.”

Leia flinched. She knew the answer, but had to ask, “What ship was it?”

The officer scanned her data pad once more, “Um….Captain Solo’s vessel, ma’am.”

“The Millennium Falcon.”

“Yes, ma’am. The Falcon.”

Leia’s mouth went dry and she swallowed before she continued her questioning. “Is the crew safe?”

“We think so, ma’am. The co-pilot reported in and, unfortunately, nobody knew enough of the Wookiee language to get a clear picture of what happened. None of the translator droids were around at the time, but we were able to catch that the deliverables weren’t taken. They’re expected back tomorrow morning.”

Leia nodded, thanking the officer. “Will you let me know if we hear again from the crew?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The Princess returned to the mound of files on her desk. She had a hard time concentrating on the tasks at hand, continuing to mull over why Han hadn’t called in. He would know that there were few on base who understood Shryiiwook and that translator droids weren’t always in the command center. How badly was the Falcon damaged? Was Han injured and that’s why Chewie was manning the com unit? Her stomach was in a knot as her mind played out the various scenarios, all of which seemed to focus on the well-being of one very annoying, yet charming, Corellian pilot whom she realized she liked very much more than liked. Oh, gods. 

Leia spent a restless night recycling innumerable worrisome scenarios of what Han, Chewie and their ship could had suffered. She hadn’t received an update from the command center and decided to stop there after visiting the Mess. Maybe eating something light would help settle her nervous stomach. 

As usual, the dining hall was bustling with early shift activity. The Rogues, normally a bleary-eyed bunch in the early hours of the day, were exceptionally animated this morning.

“Leia! Join us,” Luke called her to the table of talkative pilots. 

She settled across from Luke next to an empty chair at the table’s edge.

“Did you hear about the Falcon?” Luke cried. “Oh, boy. Han and Chewie did it again!” 

“Corellian luck,” Wedge whistled. 

Wes was holding court, having heard the story first hand, “Hell of a tale, hell of a tale,” he kept repeating. “Han’ll be drinking for free on this one for months.”

Hobbie, always one to feel left out, moaned, “I never get to see anything this cool happen.”

Amidst the Rogues’ laughter and chatter, Leia demanded from Luke, “What happened? Is Han alright?” 

“He’s a bit banged up but nothing compared to the pirates that boarded the Falcon. They docked a few hours ago.” 

“Banged up?” Leia’s voice betrayed her usual feigned indifference toward Solo.

“Wes was there when they landed. Helped Chewie convince Han to go to Medical. Dislocated shoulder, a few bumps and bruises,” Luke’s reply light-hearted until he really looked at her, saw that the color had drained from her face. 

The young man reached to put a warm hand on hers and softly spoke, “He’s okay, Leia. Really.” 

No sooner had Luke reassured the Princess the subject of their discussion appeared. Even with a blackened eye, his right arm in a sling and a pronounced limp, Han Solo swaggered toward his friends. A rousing cheer went up from the Rogues as he and Chewbacca made their way to the table where the duo were met with back slaps and high fives. 

“All right, all right,” Han muttered, somewhat embarrassed by the attention. “Sit down, will ya?” Standing at the edge of the long table, he appeared a bit glassy-eyed as the pain killers he received in the Medical Bay were starting to work. 

“We want the whole story,” Wedge demanded. “From the get go.”

“You’ll get it, keep your panties on. Gotta’ job to do first.” He bent down to meet Leia’s eyes.

Hobbie leaned in to Wedge, “Do you believe this guy? After all that, he’s going to…” He was cut off by Han’s voice.

“So, Your Beau..beautifulness,” he lips stumbled a bit pronouncing this new, more endearing epithet, the meds taking their toll. “You know the menu. Pick your po…poison, Sweetheart.”

Leia shook her head up at him, but she was smiling, “There’s only one item that fits that description, Captain, and it’s not the kaffe or the tea.”

“You wound me, Your Worship,” he swayed a bit as he theatrically pounded his heart with his right hand that extended from the sling, the motion causing him to wince and mumble owww. 

“Sit down before you fall down, you idiot,” Leia told him, not without good humor.

“Do you believe this guy?” Hobbie repeated, nudging Wedge’s arm and causing a spoon to fall out of his hand.

Wedge bent down to retrieve the cutlery from under the table as Han flopped into the seat next to the Princess. The Rogue pilot scanned the floor for the silverware and, glancing up, saw Han’s free hand reach for Leia’s, giving it a firm squeeze before their fingers laced together and settle on Han’s thigh. 

Startled, Wedge sat up, banging his head on the bottom on the table. “Kriffff,” he yelped only to be greeted with laughter from Wes and Hobbie. Laugh now, he thought, thinking the short-lived ache would be worth the insider betting tip that he just witnessed. 

“Dropped my spoon,” Antilles muttered, looking over to the secretly hand-holding pair who were still smiling at each other. Solo appeared more heavy-eyed by the second.

“Chewie,” Leia called to the Wookiee as she looked warmly at a wobbly Han. “I think you need to help the Captain back to his ship.”

Han opened his mouth to speak but Leia cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Rest up, Flyboy. I expect high tea service tomorrow.”

END


End file.
